“You don’t need me to give you a lift?” Carmen asked.
Nate showed me the map on his phone’s screen. “No need. Marianne lives only a couple of blocks away. We can cut through here.”
Carmen caught Aunt Martha’s hand. “We’ll see you later then.”
Aunt Martha looked as if she’d rather tag along with us, but she didn’t say so.
As we turned onto Marianne’s street, a shiny black sedan crawled past. “Hey, was that Frank Dale?”
“That’s his license plate, all right,” Nate confirmed.
I gaped at him. “You memorized his plate?”
“Never mind that. Call Tanner. It’s too coincidental that Frank would be in the neighborhood now. He could be the visitor Joe refused to ID.”
I made the call, and for half a minute Tanner and I debated whether it was smarter to follow Frank or sit on Joe.
“You’re going to lose him,” Nate said as the sedan disappeared around the corner.
“I’ll follow him,” Tanner muttered from the other end of the line.
“If you get the chance, check him and his car for binoculars,” I said a second before Tanner clicked off.
Nate chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” If he were Tanner, I might’ve suspected him of fibbing about Frank’s license plate. Sending Nate on a wild goose chase was just the kind of prank Tanner would pull.
Nate once again caught my hand in his. “Just appreciating getting to have you to myself for a while.”
“Tanner’s happier being on the hunt anyway.”
Nate shook his head. “You might be a highly trained special agent, but I’m afraid you have blinders on when it comes to Tanner.”
“Nah, he’s like a big brother. Just likes to give me grief.”
Nate’s pressed lips and micro-shrug said he thought I was deluding myself.
He must’ve seen last night’s kiss between Tanner and me—the one I’d been pointedly trying to forget.
Okay, maybe I was deluding myself. My big brother sure never kissed me like that.
19
Nate stopped me before we turned onto Marianne’s street. “Wait here a minute.” He ducked down the next street and emerged a few minutes later with a bakery box.
“What’s in there?”
“Fresh-baked cookies. She probably doesn’t have much of an appetite these days, but I remember appreciating our neighbors bringing my brother and me food after our parents died.”
My heart crunched at his thoughtfulness and his loss and the gravity of Marianne’s situation. I can tread lightly, I repeated to myself to block out the echo of Tanner’s bull-in-the-china-shop jab.
“It’ll be okay,” Nate reassured, but his uncanny ability to sense what I was thinking was starting to creep me out.
What other thoughts had he overheard?
At the sight of a red sports car parked on the street, I slowed my pace. “Looks like Marianne’s daughter is there too.”
Nate squinted through the car’s passenger window.
Sunlight glistened off a sun catcher, made of wire and sea glass, hanging from the rearview mirror.
Nate pointed to it. “Looks like Carly might be a sea glass collector.”
“You know the sea glass won’t be admissible evidence, and even if it was, any decent lawyer would argue it could’ve fallen out of anyone’s pocket long before Jack’s death. It’s not a clue we can put stock in.” No matter how many times we seemed to be reminded of it.
The front door of the little purple gingerbread cottage opened, and Marianne’s head poked out. “May I help you?” she said—only she didn’t sound as if she wanted to be helpful.
I smiled. “We were admiring the sun catcher in your daughter’s car. Did she make it?”
Marianne hugged her middle with trembling arms. “That’s my car. And I made the ornament.”
“Wow. It’s amazing.” I crossed to her front porch, the crushed-seashell path crunching beneath my feet.
Marianne’s wary look edged toward alarm. “What are you doing here?”
My heart jumped to my throat with the realization that she probably feared more bad news. It always seemed to come in threes.
Nate stepped beside me and held up the bakery box. “We wanted to extend our condolences.”
Marianne’s gaze dropped from his face to the box and back to his face. She blinked, looking confused. “Do I know you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. This is my friend Nate.” I reached for her hand and clasped it in both of mine, real sympathy edging out my ulterior motives as I felt its fragile trembling. “I was so sorry to hear about your son’s death. No one should have to face so much loss in such a short time. If there’s anything I can do . . .”
She shook her head, then tugged her hand from my grasp and covered her mouth, muffling a sob. “Everyone’s being so kind.”
Nate solicitously clasped her elbow and guided her back across the threshold to a nearby sofa. I sat on one of the armchairs kitty-corner to it in a cozy arrangement facing the front window and a small TV.
“What you need is a nice hot cup of tea to go with these cookies,” Nate said.
Marianne pushed to her feet, but Nate smiled in that sincere way he had that no woman could oppose and gently pushed her back down. “You sit. I’ll make it.” He disappeared into the kitchen.
“I really don’t feel up to company,” Marianne said, but I could tell Nate’s charm was weakening her resistance
“You’ll enjoy Nate’s tea,” I reassured, capitalizing on his headway. “He knows how to make it right.”
Marianne offered a tremulous smile.
If only Tanner could see me now. Nate and I made a pretty good team. And not a single broken china cup in sight!
Marianne leaned back a fraction on the sofa, although she still didn’t look comfortable.
“While we wait,” I said casually, “I was hoping you could tell me what you know about Joe.”
Her face blanched. “I don’t know anything. Please—” She sprang back to her feet. “I’d like you to go.”
My hand lifted in inarticulate protest as my heart sank. Oh no. Tanner would never let me live this down. Bull – 1, Serena – 0.
Before I could attempt a save, Nate appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding a stack of small plates. He smiled at Marianne, and she sank back down onto the sofa with a wordless little exhalation.
Nate placed the plates beside the box of cookies on the coffee table, reengaging Marianne in comforting small talk while I glumly envisioned a stampeding bull goring the TV set, then charging through the shelf holding Marianne’s Precious Moments figurines.
Just as the imaginary shards of decimated figurines hit the carpet, Nate shot me a significant look and I hastily regrouped.
Right. I was a good interrogator. My instructor at Quantico had told me as much.
I looked at Marianne’s watery, bloodshot eyes, and my heart tumbled in my chest. Tanner was right. This case was uncomfortably personal for me, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t be a professional.
Nate spoke from the kitchen doorway. “Ashley tells me your son was a tour director like Serena’s brother.”
Marianne stiffened at the mention of my brother. Or maybe at the occupation he had in common with Marianne’s son . . . especially if Detective Moore had shared with her his theory that Charlie exploited the occupation to smuggle drugs.
“If Charlie was anything like my brother, I’m sure he loved every minute of his job,” I said. “The chance to travel to exotic places and meet lots of different people.”
“Yes,” she mumbled and perched on the edge of the sofa once more, her back rigid.
Nate returned with a tray of tea. “Charlie must’ve had lots of suggestions for where you and Jack could go on your honeymoon.”
If looks could kill, mine would’ve slayed him. What was he thinking bringing up memories of the honeymoon she’d never have?
But her puffy eyes got a wist
ful, faraway look in them. “Yes, Charlie was helping us plan a trip through South America. He and Jack spent hours poring over possibilities.” Blinking rapidly, she accepted the cup of tea Nate pressed into her hands.
I clapped shut my gaping mouth. Not that I should be surprised she found comfort in the recollection. After my granddad died, I’d longed to reminisce about him with others.
“With Jack owning his own business,” Nate went on, “I imagine he was happy to give himself an extra long holiday too.”
A tiny smile teased up the corners of Marianne’s lips. “Yes, Frank told Jack to take as long as we wanted.” She dabbed at her eyes with the facial tissue crushed in her hand. “He’s been so sweet.”
“Has Frank been to see you?” I asked, hoping to circle around to his appearance in the neighborhood and possible visit to Joe’s.
“Yes, he was just here.” She sipped her tea, her posture relaxing a little. “He wanted to make sure Carly and I were okay and to let her know she could take as much time off work as she needed.”
I added another drop of milk to the tea Nate had poured for me. Then in a tone that betrayed only mild curiosity, I asked, “How long did Frank visit?”
Marianne’s gaze darted to the small mantel clock sitting on the bookcase. “I’m not sure. An hour or so.”
Hmm. Based on how long we were at Joe’s after the attack, Frank could have fled from there to Marianne’s to establish an alibi for his presence in Oak Bluffs. In Marianne’s state, she would likely concur with whatever time he said he got here. “Where’s Carly now?” I asked.
Marianne’s teacup rattled in its saucer. “I don’t know!” She plunked the cup and saucer on the end table and snatched up a fresh tissue. “I told Frank I was worried about her. The police kept asking about drugs, as if that’s what got Charlie killed.” Marianne wrung the tissue in her hands. “Carly lost her temper. Stormed off on her bike. Without her coat. Or her phone. Frank said he’d drive around and try to find her.”
“She’s been gone all night?”
Marianne shook her head. “Since this morning. I wasn’t in any condition to answer questions when the police came last night and gave us the horrible news.” She suddenly stood up, walked over to a computer desk in the wide hallway leading from the room, and then handed me a photo of Carly and Charlie beaming at the camera, their arms slung across each other’s shoulders. “That’s my Charlie. He was a good man. He didn’t have anything to do with drugs.”
“How do you think he ended up in the water?” Nate asked gently, as I discreetly texted Tanner an update on Frank.
“He was probably fishing and had a spill,” Marianne said. “Charlie loved to fish.”
My mind zigzagged to Tanner’s suspicions of Preston as I scrutinized the photo more closely. “Whose truck is this?” The pair stood in front of a Jeep that looked an awful lot like the one that mowed down Dad.
“Charlie’s.”
But Charlie wasn’t on the island when Jack was killed, so why come after Dad and me? It couldn’t be the same truck. It didn’t fit. Not when Charlie was dead now too.
“The police still haven’t found it.” Marianne’s bottom lip quivered as if she might start crying again. “But . . . they’re hoping when they do, its location will tell them where Charlie—” Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard. “Where Charlie fell into the water.”
Nate gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Perhaps your daughter went looking for the truck too.”
Oh no. That wouldn’t be good. If Charlie was part of a drug ring, as Moore suspected, and if Carly happened upon her brother’s truck and saw something she shouldn’t, she could be next.
Marianne shook her head. “She would’ve asked to borrow my car to do that.”
“Carly doesn’t have a vehicle of her own?” She looked to be around my age. Too old to be relying on a parent’s car.
“No, she’s always borrowed mine. Or Charlie’s truck when he was off the island.”
“Wow, nice brother. Mine would never let me touch his baby.” I set the photo on the table next to the tea tray, debating how to steer the story around to Joe without causing her to give me the boot, now that I was rocking this soft interrogation thing, thank-you-very-much.
Nate touched Marianne’s arm once more, and as her attention returned to him, his fingers curled around her wrist, although she didn’t seem aware of it. His baby blue eyes could be very disarming.
What was he up to?
Nate’s gaze shifted to some point beyond Marianne’s shoulder. “Are those Bushnell binoculars?”
She startled. “Pardon me?”
Nate released her wrist and pointed to the binoculars on the bookshelf behind her. “I’m interested in getting a pair for myself. Are those ones good?”
“Oh . . . yes . . . they are.”
I sent Nate a curious glance. Did he think Marianne had been at Joe’s?
But she hated him. Then again . . . Joe did have a needle in his neck when we found him. Or maybe Frank brought the binoculars here from Joe’s so they wouldn’t be found in his car.
Marianne pressed her fingers to her temple. “I’m afraid I need to lie down. I have a headache coming on. Thank you for the visit and the cookies.”
“Here”—Nate gathered the teacups onto the tray—“let me get these for you before we go.” He shot me a pointed look.
Yeah, my last chance. Got it. “Marianne, did Frank mention paying that flea market vendor, Joe, a visit before he came here?”
Genuine surprise lit her eyes. “No. Why?”
“Did Jack mention to you calling the FBI?”
Concern joined surprise in her widening eyes. “No. Why?”
“At the funeral home yesterday, I sensed you knew more about Joe than you were saying. Are you aware of any illegal buying and selling he’s been party to?”
She snorted. “Have you ever known a pawn broker who doesn’t turn a blind eye to where something came from?”
“Hmm. But do you know of something for a fact?”
Massaging her temples, Marianne stood.
Uh oh, the bull was back.
Marianne glanced into the kitchen. “Just leave the dishes. Thank you,” she said to Nate, then to me added, “I’m sorry. I do need to lie down.”
Nate joined me in the hall. “You take care.”
We stepped onto the front porch, and after the door closed behind us, I whispered, “What was with the wrist holding in there?”
“I saw it on a Mentalist episode.” He winked. “Who needs Quantico when you can learn it all from TV?”
“And what, pray tell, did you learn?”
Nate started down the street. “Her pulse jumped when I asked about the binoculars.”
I matched his strides. “Which made you deduce what?”
“That she was afraid I’d make the connection to Joe.”
“Wait. You think she was the one at Joe’s?”
“No, I suspect it was Frank, but I’m not sure why she’d cover for him.”
I mulled that over for a moment. “She must not suspect him of having anything to do with Jack’s or Charlie’s deaths.”
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t.”
“True. Jack could’ve confronted him about a new addition to his antiquities collection. Maybe Frank offered to buy him out to buy his silence, but Jack wouldn’t go for it.”
“And Joe could’ve been his middleman, but Frank recognized you, sensed a setup, and told Joe to play dumb about the amulet. They could’ve quarreled over it afterward. Would explain the needle jab and why Joe pretended it was self-inflicted.”
“Seems like a plausible motive, but what we need is solid evidence.” I thumbed a text message to Tanner to find out if his tail had materialized into anything yet.
“Don’t forget about Ben,” Nate said as we headed toward the restaurant where we’d agreed to meet Aunt Martha. “He’s got to fit into this somehow.”
“Yeah, maybe it’s time to confront Lisa
again. She must know more about his whereabouts than she’s admitted.”
My phone rang. “It’s Tanner.” I clicked CONNECT.
“Did you cut yourself?”
“What?”
“On the broken china.”
“What?”
“Bull in china shop.” Tanner chortled.
“Ha-ha. Did you get anything on Frank?”
“Yeah, you’re going to want to get over here.”
20
I jotted down the address Tanner gave me for Charlie’s house, then Nate and I sprinted to the Slice of Life Cafe.
Aunt Martha and Carmen were sitting on the covered front porch sipping tea. “Ah, good, you’re here. We were beginning to think you forgot about us,” Aunt Martha said as we rushed inside. “We already finished eating.”
“That’s great, because we have to go.”
Carmen and Aunt Martha sprang to their feet, and Carmen tossed more than enough money on the table to cover their lunch bill. “Where to?”
Nate glanced at his smartphone. “Seaview Avenue toward Edgartown.”
“Ooh, isn’t this exciting?” Aunt Martha cooed, scurrying toward Carmen’s rental parked on a side street by Union Chapel.
Nate flashed me a grin. He always got a kick out of Aunt Martha’s enthusiasm for a good mystery.
Hello? Two dead bodies and Joe with a needle in his neck, I telepathed.
Carmen careened right onto Ocean Avenue and picked up speed on the incline to Seaview.
“Watch that car,” Aunt Martha cautioned as he turned onto Seaview without stopping at the intersection.
“Get us there alive,” Nate quipped.
Carmen shot a panicked look to the rearview mirror, and my heart plunged. “What’s wrong?”
He threw the car into neutral and pumped the brakes. “We’ve lost the brakes.”
The incline steepened.
“Drive into the field.” Aunt Martha pointed to the park opposite Inkwell Beach, empty except for a lone jogger and his dog. Thank goodness kids were still in school!
Carmen swerved, just missing the fence, and plowed over the little white painted boulders with a skull-rattling thunk. Airbags exploded from the front dash. Unfortunately, Nate and I had no such cushioning and banged our heads on the backs of Carmen’s and Aunt Martha’s seats.
Over Maya Dead Body Page 17